OUCH!!!!

This mornings workout brought back visions from when I was a collegiate swimmer.

I didn't have to wear a speedo, I didn't have that distinctive aroma of having jumped into a vat of bleach once the workout was over, I didn't have to sport the oh-so attractive swim cap, and there wasn't actually any swimming involved (thank goodness, I wouldn't want to start up again too soon. It's only been five years since the last time I swam laps; but I do think I'll be ready to get back in the water soon - like in about.....oh, I dunno, another decade. Or two. Wouldn't want to rush things).

No, this mornings workout reminded me of swimming because it was so freakin' hard and the lactic acid built up so freakin' much that I wanted to keel over and die.

If that isn't a PSA for swimming or CrossFit, I don't know what is.

TWO (2!) one mile runs? ONE HUNDRED pull-ups? The only "reprieve" was the 150 sit-ups, and they only felt like a reprieve because for the tiniest, splittiest of seconds, you get to be lying down and fool your body into thinking that it could rest.

It started out well, I suppose. I was out the gate with a seven minute mile. Not bad, I thought but I clearly didn't think of the lasting repercussions. Now the coaches might actually think that I am not god-awful at running. Which, if you asked any of my teammates from my days as a water creature, is actually hilarious. 

I did finish all of the pull-ups and all of the sit-ups and managed to not die on the final run. But after it was all over, my body HATED me. The familiar cramp of lactic acid, the refusal of your lungs to intake any oxygen, the desire to lie down but your body's refusal to stop moving because stopping would only make you pinpoint the pain, the desperate scan of the terrain for a cliff to hurl yourself off of....

Just when you think you have a handle on the things CrossFit slings at you, they kick you in the ass.

Well played, CFC, well played.